


A Night at Black Manor

by violet_electric



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Crack, Mad Science, Murder Mystery, body parts-ish, old dark house, spoopy but not 2spoopy, this was meant to be a flash fic how did this happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_electric/pseuds/violet_electric
Summary: So Black The Dark, Mysterious Manor on the Hillside...Around 1980/81, on their way to tour Cardiff, the boys' car breaks down in the middle of a thunderstorm. Of course the only place of shelter in sight is an old, dingy looking manor. They're surprised to find a rather beautiful proprietress inside; but, as expected, she's not all she seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grus/gifts).



> This is dedicated to, and inspired by, the wonderful Hal (flaky-bandit). I did not intend for it to turn out this way, but lo and behold it is here and I am having far too much fun putting the boys in predicaments for it to end soon. I hope you enjoy it, I am extremely tired as I post this but I have read it at least twice so it should be at least coherent...hopefully...

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

Roger peered up at the grey, crumbling manor through the pouring rain, just as a conveniently dramatic bolt of lightning darted across the sky. It was late, they were lost, and they were all fed up. Nick’s perfectly styled bouffant was now dripping with rain, his green eyes narrowed and pink lips tight, making him resemble a drowned cat. John and Simon looked little better; Simon’s suede shoes were ruined with mud and John’s glasses could have done with a little set of windscreen wipers. Andy looked only slightly more ragged than usual. 

“Well I need a piss and a kip,” Simon said bluntly. “You can go back to the car if you get the heebie jeebies.”

That didn’t sound like a very pleasant option either. Roger sighed and reluctantly followed them towards the steps of the building,. The faded sign carved into the wall read _Y Du Faenor._

“Anyone understand Welsh?” Andy asked.

They all shook their heads. 

“I understand the words ‘a complete dump’ in any language,” Nick quipped.

“Shh,” Roger said, looking around anxiously, as if the owner would suddenly appear behind them. “Let’s just get inside.”

They ducked into the doorway and approached the grand oaken door with apprehension. There was a faint light in the window, flickering rather pathetically, its candle nearly burnt out. The knocker was red with rust. 

“Inviting isn’t it?” Simon quipped. “Puts a stay at the Hilton to shame.”

He went up to the door anyway, rapping on it firmly. He gave a small jump as the door swung open, hinges screeching, and a wave of dust hitting him in the face.

John put an arm around him, patting his back as he coughed, brushing the dirt off his jacket.

Andy sighed and threw his bag over his shoulder.

“Come on, we’ve got to make the best of it.”

Following him, Roger stepped into the dimly lit hall, wary of what he would find within. 

His jaw fell open.

Despite the dust, dimness and damp smell, their surroundings were ludicrously opulent. The walls were covered in red jacquard paper that had a silken sheen; in fact, Roger wouldn’t be surprised if it was in fact made from the fabric. Above them was a diamond and gold chandelier, artificial candles inside twinkling dimly, casting a sparkle across the high ceiling. The carpet beneath their feet was moth-eaten yet still plush, its purplish red still vibrant despite its obvious age. 

Simon gave a low whistle.

“Not bad…”

Before any of the others could comment, they heard another door creak open in the shadowy corner. John gripped Roger’s arm tightly, shrinking behind him. Simon raised his chin, scowling, pretending to be ready to fight. 

From the darkness stepped a woman. Simon gave another low whistle.

“Welcome,” she said in a low, purring voice, her ruby lips stretching wide to flash her perfectly white teeth.

She was tall, slender and icy blonde, with pale skin and a doll-like nose. Her cheeks were chiselled ice and her black suit revealed an angular, aggressive figure. Roger was pretty sure they had all immediately fallen in love with her.

“Hello,” Nick said, stepping forward with a smile, recovering himself smoothly. “We’re sorry to intrude unexpectedly, but we’ve had some trouble travelling and wondered if it would be possible to stay?”

In spite of his dishevelled appearance he was still charming as ever. The woman continued to smile and extended a hand.

“But of course.”

Nick took her hand, slightly hesitantly, and raised it to his lips. Simon decided it was time he stepped in.

“I’m Simon,” he said, pushing Nick aside and taking her hand himself, “it’s lovely to meet you miss…?”

“ _Mrs_ Black,” she said, looking at him rather coldly. 

Simon’s eyes popped and he let go of her hand quickly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, turning and giving John a mild grimace. “Well, as Nick says, we got into a little bit of bother a while back on the road-- bloody lights are out-- so we had no choice but to pull over and run for cover, given the charming weather. I know why your Welsh valleys are so green now.”

He glanced round with a wide smile, hoping someone would acknowledge his pun, but the others were too busy staring at the enigmatic Mrs Black.

“Anyway,” Simon said, his smile dropping and a sulky frown replacing it, “we thought this might be a hotel or something. We can pay you to stay, we’re not just crashing in like brigands.”

Mrs. Black continued to give Simon a rather steely gaze, but forced a vampish smile across her lips.

“I’d be delighted to have your company; not often that five gorgeous boys appear on your doorstep.”

They all grinned from ear to ear. Mrs. Black turned and headed upstairs. The five men looked at each other.

“Should we…?” John asked, unsure what they were meant to do.

“Would be rude not to!” Andy said, grinning, hoisting up the rest of their luggage under his arms, nearly toppling over in the process.

They all headed up the stairs, somewhat dubious. The staircase was dimly lit, curving round and round, each corner becoming shadowier and shadowier. Along the walls hung murky paintings of strange looking men, each one gloomier and ghoulier than the last. 

“Who are the painting of, if I may inquire?” Nick asked, having hastily made his way to the front of the group to catch up with Mrs Black.

She paused, glancing around at the paintings as if she had never seen them before.

“Oh, they’re my former husbands.”

Simon and John turned to look at each other slowly, eyes wide. Roger gulped. Something about the way she said that, so casually, made him worry.

They asked no more questions, letting themselves be blindly led into four rooms, Andy having to share with Simon according to Mrs. Black’s very specific wishes. None of them thought any the wiser of it. They all closed their doors and sat down on their respective beds, feeling a little dazed.

Andy flopped down onto the large four-poster, bouncing rather pathetically, and as he patted his hand along the mattress he found it sopping wet.

“Ugh!”

He jumped back up again and wiped his hand on Simon’s jacket. Simon turned to look at him slowly, a look of utter disgust on his face.

“I’m not a dishtowel, Taylor 3,’ he muttered.

“I thought I asked you very nicely to stop calling me that!”

Simon shrugged and smirked at him.

“What do you make of it all, though?” Andy asked, getting over his annoyance quickly in the face of such an unusual predicament.

He looked up at Simon to avoid examining the brown stained walls around them. They seemed to be oozing with something unknown that looked damp and sticky. He had little desire to investigate it.

“It’s… shelter, at least,” Simon replied, slowly, casting his eye over the surroundings and repressing a shiver. “I’ve spent the night in worse, with worse. She’s a bit barmy but nice company I imagine.”

Andy gave a murmur of agreement, but his anxiously throbbing heart did not let up.

Meanwhile, across the hall, John hastily pulled off his t-shirt. His body was numb with cold; he hoped that the rain hadn’t soaked through the only change of clothes he had in his bag. He wondered why they had all gone into their rooms without speaking a word; it felt as though there were all under some kind of enchantment. 

Looking round his room, he couldn’t help but marvel at the dark panelled walls, decorated with golden lamp sockets and delicate landscapes. He peered at them for a moment-- art wasn’t really his forte-- but couldn’t make out much except pleasant country scenes he imagined would be similar to the view from his window on a clearer day. John’s roaming eyes fell on a door beside the tall and shining wardrobe in the corner. Curious, John went towards it, assuming it was an adjoining entry into Roger’s room beside him. He flung it open, taking a step forward, and realising too late that there was nothing but blackness in front of him, and nothing beneath his feet.

John tumbled down into the darkness with a faint yell, smashing his head off something stone and slipping rapidly into unconsciousness.

Roger heard a distant thump somewhere beneath him. He didn’t want to think about it. If he did he’d have himself convinced there would be a skeleton army rushing through his door in any second. 

He shut his eyes and rolled over on the red brocade bedspread. He had to admit this wasn’t what he had expected from the outside. He was relatively warm, dry and comfortable as he lay on the bed. Yet he still felt like there was something wrong. Every time the storm grumbled outside he gave a little twitch and his hands balled into fists. He heard a faint howling every now and again; surely it was the wind, yet Roger didn’t seem so sure after a while. 

He sighed and rolled onto his other side. If he couldn’t keep sane, he would have to try and sleep. Despite the thunder, he found his eyelids drooping. 

Nick stared out of the window, holding back the dark velvet curtain, and watched the furious rain pounding against the fragile glass. He felt like a forboding manor lord, looking over his muddy empire. 

A knock at the door made him turn round with a curious frown. 

“Come in?” he called out, somewhat apprehensive. 

The door creaked open slowly, and through it slinked Mrs. Black. Nick felt his jaw drop slightly. He swore she was wearing a black skirt suit before; but now it seemed more like a dress, with what he thought was a white shirt underneath a blazer now very clearly bare skin barely kept under a low cut neckline. 

“I thought you might like something to make yourself a little more… cosy.”

She held out a small crystal glass, filled with deep amber liquid. Nick raised his hand to take it, and found his fingers trembling a little.

He threw back the drink quickly, irritated at his sudden lack of control. Why was he being blown away by her so easily? She was just a woman, after all, pretty but no better or worse than anyone else.

“Thank you,” he began, “you’ve been far too hospitable. May I ask what this…?”

He felt his throat seize suddenly and the question died on his lips. Mrs. Black took a step towards him, taking the glass back and setting it on the sideboard.

“Don’t worry my dear,” she murmured, “that blend is particularly… potent. The aftertaste will fade in a moment.”

She smiled, reaching up a hand to stroke Nick’s damp hair back from his face.

“You are exquisite, aren’t you?” she mused. “I’ve been waiting for one like you to come along. The other boys are just that; pretty but dispensable. You are something altogether different. A demi-god, an angel and yet a demon at the same time… perhaps more wicked than you realise…”

A burning sensation was slowly spreading across Nick’s head and he found it difficult to process the wild ramblings of the woman, as tantalising as some of them were. Before he could think any further, her lips were on his, arms coiled round his shoulders and pressing him to her.

Her lips were sweet and he felt the powder of her face rub onto his cheeks. He returned the kiss, tongue sliding gently against her full bottom lip, but as he went to place his hands on her back he found them limp. 

His heart began to pound, not only with excitement, but with panic. He tried to pull back from her, but she wouldn’t relent. He tried to meet her eyes but her face was swimming in front of him, becoming hazier by the second, and his eyelids drooped heavily. The feeling of fatigue spread down his whole body and he found it difficult to stand up. He swore he had been the taller of the two of them when she walked in; now her neck was turned downward to keep their lips together.

In one quick rush Nick’s trembling legs gave way, and Mrs. Black looked down at his body with a beaming smile.

“Oh my darling, don’t worry,” she said. “I know it’s a little startling at first but once the transformation is complete you’ll really love your new self… your true self…”

She gave a little shiver of excitement, then leaned back against the bed, curling up against the bedpost like a very sinister cat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically an entire chapter of John, Andy and Simon running around a basement. It's more exciting than it sounds. John is still shirtless and lost, while Andy and Simon inadvertently end up investigating some strange noise coming from beneath their room...  
> TW: dead?/body parts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, personal/school issues got in the way. But I'm feeling a bit more inspired lately and hope to have another chapter of this and Hot Blood up by April. It's starting to get a bit more morbid now but hopefully I'm presenting it in a fun kind of kitschy 'House on Haunted Hill' (1959) kind of way as opposed to something truly scary! So for that reason I've added a tag warning.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it :)

John opened his eyes to dim blurriness. He lay on the cold stone floor for several minutes, trying to regain consciousness, his head whirling like a carnival ride. Raising a feeble hand to his temple, he felt something damp and stinging. He must have smashed his head off something.

John gave a groan and managed to push himself towards the nearest wall, hoisting himself up to a sitting position in a new record of five agonising minutes. He leant his spinning head back, breathing heavily, and tried to figure out exactly what had happened to him. 

There was a very faint flickering candle in an alcove above him; from its light he thought he could see the outline of steps beside him. They must have been what he fell down, and probably what injured his head. He fumbled round for his glasses but had no luck. Now it wouldn’t have mattered if the place was flooded in spotlights; John was effectively blind. He didn’t have time to lament the loss, however; he had to get up, figure out where he was, and get the hell out of there.

Half-crawling, half-tripping, John made his way up the staircase. He understood why he had fallen so heavily; each step was about a foot high. Eventually, when his hands stretched out and could find no further edges to mount, he tentatively got to his feet. He reached out in front of him, probing the darkness with a racing heart, stumbling like a zombie until his fingers came to something wooden. 

John’s breath hitched in relief; this must have been the door where he came in. Eagerly he pushed it, but it seemed solid as a rock. He tried again, throwing a bit more of his weight against it, but still no change. Quickly he ran his hands across it, searching for a handle, but found the surface was smooth. 

He stepped back, perplexed. He didn’t understand what had happened. He ran his fingers round the edges, hoping to find some gap or dent he could use to pull on, but there was nothing. It was as if he were sealed in a tomb.

A chill caught him, the breeze wrapping itself round his back like a pair of arms, and he gave a little shiver. He realised he’d never completed his intention of putting on a clean shirt. 

“Great,” he muttered. “Half-naked, blind and lost. Good place to be.”

Before he could dwell on his predicament for much longer, however, a distant cry made him whirl round and nearly fall straight down the stairs again. 

Catching himself miraculously, he began to cautiously step down. The scream was hardly inviting but John had little choice if he was to try and find a way out. The thought suddenly occurred to him that it might be their beautiful hostess. He had no choice now; he had to venture into the great unknown and play hero. 

With a deep breath that sent far too much oxygen to his damaged head, John jumped the last few steps and strode off into the darkness.

Andy sat up with a start as he too heard a faint yell. 

“You hear that?”

Simon rolled over with an exaggerated snore. Andy gave him a whack on the arm.

A moaning, groggy Simon eventually opened his eyes.

“What?”

“I heard someone shouting, Simon,” Andy said, half-exasperated, half-worried. “Sounded like it was coming from downstairs.”

“Probably Roger and a ghost,” Simon mumbled.

Andy gave him another whack.

“Come on Simon, something is up with this place, you know it as well as I do. At least we should go see how the other guys are.”

Simon sighed but finally sat up and the two of them stepped round the bed towards the door. 

Andy’s fingertips had just reached the door handle when the floor beneath them began to shake.

“What the--”

He barely had time to look down but in a quick glance he saw the entire floor separated like a set of sliding doors, only instead of a room on the other side, there was nothing but a black pit awaiting them.

They both gave yelps of terror and Andy flung the door open, diving through it, Simon jumping straight after him. 

Andy managed to land in the doorway, scrambling to get a hold of the carpet and drag himself into the hallway. Unfortunately Simon landed a few seconds later, directly on his legs, and the tender balance Andy had managed to strike gave way. Like a lead balloon on an empty seesaw, they plunged backwards, only there was no ground for their side to land on. 

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKK!”

They both yelled, their shouts becoming incoherent echoes as they spiralled down through the air, the cold air rushing past them all they could process.

Suddenly Andy could hear nothing, his ears pressed down, as he plunged into fluid. It was acrid, stinging as it filled his nostrils, and it seemed impossible to keep it in his mouth without retching. Flailing his arms wildly, he managed to push himself to the surface of the pool and coughed up a fountain of yellowy water. 

He blinked, quickly wiping the wet off his face with his even wetter hands as his eyes started to burn. He couldn’t quite tell what was going on, but he could make out a kind of clear border round them, as if they were in a swimming pool. It didn’t matter right now, though; his thoughts went straight to Simon as he whirled around furiously, sending foamy waves crashing around him.

Beneath the surface in front of him was something dark and round. Andy narrowed his stinging eyes and through the murky water saw strands of blond hair, floating just out of reach.  
Andy seized them, hoping Simon would forgive him for yanking him up so brutally. 

What Andy thought would be heavy came up surprisingly easily. He looked up at his fingers, tangled in matted hair, to see a cleanly severed head resting against the palm of his hand.

The shrill shriek pierced through Simon’s clogged ears and make him wince more than the bitter fluid in his mouth. He turned around, trying to locate the source of the noise, finding only Andy beside him. Then he saw what was in Andy’s hands and screamed.

Andy threw the head into the air and the two of them dived away, swimming frantically until they hit the side of the tank. It was only then that they realised that’s what they were in. Peering over its edge, he saw they were in the centre of a large cellar, the tank at least 10 feet high. Around the tank were various wires and switches, leading towards a very large lever against the wall opposite. Lining the walls were several cabinets and desks, covered in scattered flasks and vials, with stains across their surfaces all colours of the rainbow.

“We’re getting out of here” Simon said, heaving himself up on the edge of the tank, his taught fingers almost as white as his terrified face. 

“What?” Andy asked, shivering with fear. “Simon it’s a big drop I don’t think--”

Before he could finish, Simon swung his legs over the side of the tank and dropped down.

“Simon!”

A thud and a loud ‘ouch’ was his reply. Peering over the tank, and nearly toppling out himself, Andy was able to see Simon frazzled but seemingly undamaged on the ground.

“You alright?” Andy called down.

“I think so,” Simon said, shaking the water out of his hair, which was starting to spike up rather unusually. “Have you got a tingling feeling by any chance?”

“No…”

Simon pulled himself to his feet by holding onto the nearby table. As he did so, a bottle of something shocking pink rolled across it and landed right on top of him.

Simon gave a start and jumped back, frantically rubbing the bright stains on his jeans.

“What on earth is this stuff?” he muttered. 

“Simon,” Andy called, peering over the edge above him rather mournfully. “How do I get down?”

“Just climb over and let yourself drop,” Simon said, rather dismissively. “Bend your knees and you’ll be fine.”

Andy didn’t seem too convinced but reluctantly began to climb over the side. He stretched as far as he possibly could, shimmying over towards the table, and let himself go. 

He didn’t quite land as gracefully as he had hoped. Crashing onto the table ass first, knocking over half a dozen beakers as he did so, he couldn’t stop himself from rolling straight onto the floor with a smack.

Andy lay for a few moments, face pressed into the stony floor, his ears ringing with the sound of Simon’s high pitched giggle. 

_Violence is wrong, Andrew_ , he told himself. _Be the better man._

With a very, very deep sigh, he pushed himself onto his knees and with a half-hearted heave against the desk he got to his feet again.

“I told you to bend your knees,” Simon said, shrugging in response to Andy’s deadly glare.

Suddenly there was a loud bang in the corridor behind them. Simon jumped a foot in the air, grabbing Andy. Andy yelled and jumped up himself, not quite sure what was going on, as his torso was pulled rapidly towards Simon’s.

_Wham!_

Their heads crashed together and they both keeled back onto the floor, stars twinkling in front of their eyes. 

Simon gave a loud groan and rolled onto his back.

“I thought you would catch me,” he muttered.

Andy hunched on all fours, panting.

“Maybe give me a bit of warning next time?” he sighed. “And lose a few pounds.”

Simon managed to lift his head enough to glare at him. Andy forced himself to his feet, staggering slightly, and stumbled over to Simon. He extended a hand as an offering of friendship, and Simon reluctantly took it. Back against the wall, Andy managed to hoist Simon to his feet, muscles only slightly destroyed.

They shared a long look, Simon brushing dust from his hair with a clenched jaw, and gave each other a determined nod.

Simultaneously they leapt round the doorway into the hall, fists raised and ready to take whatever the hell would come at them. Their rapidly beating hearts sank; the dim corridor was disappointingly empty.

They relaxed their stances ever so slightly, and began to walk along, eyes scanning the increasingly dark space ahead of them. Andy fumbled in his pockets, trying to find a lighter to dissipate the darkness. Something cold and metal hit his fingers; eagerly he pulled it out. However, upon flicking open the lid, water began to seep out across his hand and even as he desperately rubbed his thumb over the wheel he knew it would be hopeless.

“Fuck’s sake,” he whispered.

Simon whirled around and bumped into him.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, Simon, that was me cursing.”

“No, not you…”

Simon’s voice seemed tight all of a sudden, his usual brashness gone, and with each word it seemed to be increasing in pitch. 

They stood still for a moment, waiting for something. Andy strained his ears, wondering what Simon was talking about. Like his lighter, they were still filled with water, and he rubbed them quickly to try and ease it out. All he could hear was their breathing, quick and uneasy, magnified by the stone space around them. 

“Come on, Simon, there’s nothing here,” he whispered. “Let’s keep moving.”

He took a step forward, trying to pretend his knees weren’t shaking, and strode on into the darkness. Almost absentmindedly, Andy clicked his lighter, trying to distract himself. He clicked with each step, counting them over and over, keeping his breathing in check with each downward stroke.

The rub of the metal echoed through the hall and almost sounded like a scraping footstep.

“Andy…” Simon hissed behind him, barely able to speak.

Suddenly a guttering flame emerged from Andy’s fist and above it hovered a deathly white face, gaunt and wide-eyed with a razor sharp jawline.

Three high pitched shrieks reverberated round the corridor as Simon smacked the creature in front of them and Andy began bolting towards the laboratory.

“OW!” yelled the creature, “Simon, it’s me!”

In the darkness, that wasn’t very helpful. But that voice was hard to mistake.

“John?” 

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, rather disgruntled. “Thanks for the slap, by the way.”

“I panicked, you look like a bloody ghost!”

“How would slapping a ghost have any effect anyway? They’re not meant to be solid are they?”

“Fuck me John, I don’t know.”

“Before you two fuck or do anything else, we’d better get out of here.”

A glow of light was coming towards them, and they turned round to see Andy carrying a large candle he’d obviously found in the lab.

“You’re being practical for once-- I like it,” John quipped.

Simon sniggered patronisingly and Andy rolled his eyes. Then he frowned at John.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re shirtless?”

John looked down at himself as though he’d forgotten the state he was in.

“Not really… I didn’t exactly plan on getting lost down here…”

“What happened?” Andy asked, as they all began to walk along the corridor, as if they knew where they were going.

“I opened what I thought was the door to Roger’s room,” John explained, “and the next thing I knew it was dark and I was at the bottom of a set of stairs. I tried to get back out but the door must only open from the other side.”

“This place is very weird,” Simon said. “I’d like it under any other circumstances. But it feels like a trap.”

“Maybe Mrs. Black is actually a very naughty fangirl,” Andy mused, smiling to himself. “Want to imprison us here and do terrible things to us.”

John rolled his eyes.

“You forget you just had a severed head in your hand, don’t you?” Simon said scathingly. 

“What?!” John asked, turning to him with wide, beautiful brown-eyed, terror.

“Yeah,” Simon replied. “This place is fucking weird.”

Their conversation was cut off by the abrupt appearance of a dusty wall in front of them. The corridor had narrowed to an end.

“Well, this is helpful,” Simon said.

“Hang on a minute…” Andy began, “I think there’s something written on it.”

Andy brushed the cobwebs away, wiping his fingers gently on Simon’s back, and lifted the torch closer to the wall. 

John sighed.

“I wish one of us understood Welsh.”

In front of them, scraped vigorously into the wall were the words:

_“byddwch yn ofalus: llw hwn yn amddiffyn y meirw”_

Simon mumbled complete gibberish in his attempt to read it. John couldn’t exactly blame him; he counted a total of 7 vowels out of 9 words.

Beneath it was a faint carving of a figure, hooded with a bowed head, hands clasped as if praying. Across its chest was a deep ‘X’. 

“This is creepy as hell,” Andy said, taking a step back, while Simon’s finger darted out and jabbed the ‘X’ quickly before he recoiled.

He stood frozen, finger raised, eyes roaming around him with nervous anticipation. Yet nothing happened; he had not triggered some mystic alarm. 

“Let’s try and get out of here,” said John. “Come on.”

And so they wandered off round the corner to their left, blissfully unaware that that was exactly where Mrs. Black had planned for them to go…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse for the boys as they stumble upon Mrs. Black's very unusual dinner party...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at updating. We know this. I apologise and hope this is worth it. Epilogue will be coming before Halloween to get you all in the festive mood !

A fluttering red curtain swayed in front of them, a shiver running down Simon’s spine as he felt both repulsed and inexplicably drawn to it. 

John looked around at the stone walls surrounding them. Perhaps it was simply a trick of the dim torchlight, but it felt like the corridor had narrowed considerably as they had walked along in the shadows. 

“There’s no other way to go, unless we double back,” he said, reluctantly. 

He wasn’t too enthusiastic about the curtain either. 

“Look at you,” Andy smirked, “scared shirtless…”

John rolled his eyes. Andy stepped past him, and without hesitation, poked the fabric. Simon smacked his hand away and Andy giggled.

“Oh come on, standing here scared of a fucking curtain? What do you think’s gonna happen? Ooh hang on, what’s that?”

He raised a cupped hand to his ear and pretended to hear something.

“There’s a zombie lurking on the other side… It’s shuffling closer, groaning, growling… says it wants blood, wants to throttle us, eat our braaaaiiiinssss--”

Before he could finish his taunting, Simon placed one hand firmly on his back and shoved him through it. A loud yelp echoed around the corridor and then Andy was gone.

Simon and John stood there, waiting, in silence. Nothing happened. After a few moments, John turned to Simon, his brow comically furrowed and his lip quivering slightly. 

“Uuh…. Simon…?”

Simon peered under the curtain, Andy’s battered sneakers conspicuously absent. He could vaguely see a set of steps, layered with dust, no footprints disturbing them. He gave himself a small shake, inwardly steeling himself, then ripped the curtain back. John gave a faint whimper as he did so.

On the other side was a winding staircase, and between the narrow walls was the curled form of Andy, shoes pushing desperately against the wall as he tried to fight gravity. 

They all looked at each other for a moment, then the squeak of rubber against dry stone rose and accelerated as Andy slowly slid onto the floor.

“Surprise!” he half-heartedly cried, waving his hands in the air like a down on his luck magician. 

“Thanks for that Andy,” Simon muttered. “Never mind giving us heart attacks eh?”

He reluctantly held out his hand to help Andy up, yanking him to his feet a little harder than necessary.

A distant throb of music distracted them from their squabble. It echoed softly along the stairway, hard to make out, but it seemed… dreamy.

John blinked, his eyelids becoming heavy. The mysterious, twinkling notes of an electronic organ swelled up and reverberated around them. He took a step towards the music, his limbs suddenly light and numb. 

Simon felt the same pull in his gut that the curtain had provoked, and as the steady beat pulsed through the walls themselves, he found himself swaying in time to the mysterious music. It made him want to drink; to dance; to laugh.

They all stepped forward in union, climbing up the stairs without a second thought.

Light was coming from above them, and as they turned the corner of the spiralling steps, they heard faint laughter rising above the music-- distinctly female laugher, along with an oddly familiar cackle. 

John frowned, trying to shake himself out of his trance. He stepped forward quickly, long legs skipping over the stairs with ease, in search of the owner of that laugh.

Ahead of him, he found a wooden panel left ajar, rather like the one he had been trapped behind outside his room. He hesitated; although the light was infinitely more promising than the dark and winding corridors from where they came, something in his gut told him there was trouble ahead. How would it look to their hostess when they tumbled out of a secret passageway? John felt a faint blush of embarrassment.

Simon, on the other hand, clenched his fists and steeled himself for a confrontation. He could still feel that sick burn of salt in his throat, the bile rising in his stomach at the thought of what he’d seen. He knew that big smile, all cherry red lipstick and perfect white teeth, was too good to be true. Somehow it no longer seemed like just a bout of bad luck that Mrs Black’s husbands were all dead. And if they weren’t careful they would no doubt end up much the same.

Andy trembled-- if anyone had asked him he would have claimed the water from the tank was icy and he was at risk of a cold anyway, but in fact he found himself almost painfully warm. Blood and adrenaline was rushing round his body, though whether he was going to fight, flee or freeze was still unclear. 

John looked back at them, moving from Simon’s hardened gaze to Andy’s quivering lip.

“We ready?” he whispered.

And whether they were or not, they all nodded.

As soon as he pushed back the panel, John was startled by the amount of light ahead of them. The room they had stumbled upon was luxuriously lit, with three sparkling chandeliers above them and candle sconces along the walls. In its centre was a large mahogany dining table, adorned with more candles and gleaming silverware, all laid out perfectly as if a dinner party was expected. Behind the table was a vast tapestry, hanging straight from the high ceiling and trailing down to the floor. In front of it was a large organ, and seated at it was a blonde man, hands sweeping theatrically across the keys.

“Nick!” Simon exclaimed, rushing forward towards him, “you wouldn’t believe--”

He stopped short as Nick slammed his hands down on the keys, creating a jarring mash of noise. Andy gulped. Nick slowly turned to face them, and John felt a shiver as a wide smirk spread across his pale face.

“Ah, so good to finally see you all,” he drawled. “We can dine now. Please, won’t you take a seat?”

He gestured at the table in front of them, still beaming, skin stretched taut across his cheeks. He watched them, unblinkingly, the whites of his eyes unnaturally luminous. Andy did not like it.

Simon bit back his urge to confront them and point out that they had been taking a brief detour in the basement from Pit and the Pendulum, and instead took a moment to look around the room. A luminous crown of white gold hair caught his eye; Mrs Black stood by the fireplace behind them, smiling at them.

“Please sit down, boys,” she purred.

Andy rankled a bit at being talked down to, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“No problem, love, though last time I tried to sit down and relax in this place I fell through the floor into a tank of heads.”

His legs were still trembling; but the adrenalin was beginning to rush to his chest, amplifying his voice, and sending waves of delusion to his brain that made him feel like he was suddenly a big biceped hunk ready to kick ass. All he needed was a cool leather outfit to really complete the illusion.

Mrs Black’s smile faltered for a fleeting moment, eyes turning ice cold. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, something about this place provokes the strangest dreams... even in waking your eyes can create wild illusions. But I’m sure some food and a rest will soothe your restless mind.”

Her voice was light and genial, the smile returning wider than ever, yet her eyes were still furious. Andy’s face scrunched up, ready to protest her words, but John quickly nudged him in the back and pushed him towards the table.

“C’mon, let’s just… have a sit down, alright?” he muttered.

Reluctantly Andy obeyed him, and the two of them sat down opposite Nick. John glared up at him, wondering why he was acting so… normal about this. Nick’s eyes rested on him, and John noticed how oddly they glittered-- not merely shining in the candlelight, but really glittering, as if he had poured sparkles into them. Nick’s lips were twitching in amusement, though John couldn’t see why. His eyes flicked up and down his chest-- and then John remembered he wasn’t wearing anything. 

Hastily he folded his arms across himself and looked away, as Nick cackled.

“What’s gotten into you?” Simon asked, as he walked towards him cautiously, his body leaning back with each step as if he thought Nick were a panther ready to lunge forward any second now.

“Me?” Nick asked, perplexed. “I’m perfectly fine, Simon. In fact, I feel better than ever.”

His grin did not contradict his words; but Simon still did not trust him. He took the chair beside where Nick sat and glanced over at the others. They glanced back, faces as blank and worried as his. 

A small tinkle of a bell made Simon look around. Mrs Black was pulling on a cloth rope dangling from the corner; his stomach churned ominously at the thought of whatever she was summoning. She dropped the fabric and prowled over to them, heels clicking like the claws of a humongous bird on the hard stone floor.

“Dinner will be served presently,” she said. “Meanwhile, there is wine.”

Simon noticed her eyes flash inhumanly white as she said that. He promptly resolved to refuse all and everything she offered him, no matter how much his stomach grumbled.

Andy and John, however, held out the glasses in front of them obliviously, waiting for Nick to pour from the ruby tinted decanter in his hands. Simon gave Andy a nudge under the table, trying to convey his concerns silently, while Mrs Black eyed him with hostility. 

Yet the lure of the rippling red liquid, for boys with dust filled throats, was too hard to resist. Both Andy and John began to drink, gulping rudely as they sated their thirst. Simon could only watch with a heavy knot in his chest.

Wine filled Andy’s throat, pouring as much as he could into his mouth at once. It was rich and bitter, something he usually would have turned his nose up at, but now it seemed the most delicious drink in the world. He downed the glass in one, setting it back on the table rather harshly, causing the glass to ring and echo around the room. Its sound was absorbed into the cry of the saxophone, which Andy felt was growing louder, the shifting snare beat beneath it pulsing against his ears. An ecstatic smile spread across Andy’s face, eyes closing and head lilting back. Simon watched him with a frown, and noticed his grip on his armrest slackening. 

Nick gave an eerily satisfied smile, and finally took his seat opposite them. Mrs Black slinked around behind him, her perfume wafting over Simon and making his mind momentarily clear and carefree as a summer’s breeze. 

Then he heard-- or rather, felt-- a faint metallic click beneath his chin. Simon flinched immediately, bending down to see what had caused it, but found his skin touched cold metal and could move no more. 

His hands automatically flew to his throat, yet they too were suddenly encased, his wrist bones smashing sharply into the metal shackles that had appeared seemingly from the chair itself. 

“Simon!” John cried feebly, coughing slightly as wine dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. He had taken his drink enthusiastically too, but a surge of strength spread through his veins at the sight of his friends in peril that forced him to his feet before the mysterious liquid could take effect.

He flung himself onto Simon, yanking at the metal clamps that constrained him, though his fingers were weak and slipping. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Nick said, his voice pleasantly menacing.

“Shut up,” John spat, “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you but if you try and do anything to any of us I’ll--”

His tirade was cut short by a heavy thwack as Mrs Black slammed a silver dinner tray over his head.

“What a shame,” she muttered. “He’s such a pretty one.”

Simon thrashed violently, heart leaping to his throat at the sight of John flumped on the floor like a rag doll. Bitter tears stung in his eyes as the clamps seemed to only tighten further. He felt Mrs Black hovering behind him, and she pressed something tightly against the clamp, twisting it like a screw. Simon’s skin pinched painfully as the tightened metal caught on his neck.

“Now, stay still, there’s no need to worry,” she said, in perhaps the most disquieting tone Simon had ever heard.

Beads of perspiration were trickling down his temple and Simon could taste the tang of sweat on his upper lip. He was used to it as a frontman performing in tiny dives for years, prancing around and shouting lyrics in the tightest most impractical leather pants available. Yet this time it tasted of fear, more intense than Simon had ever experienced. He had been in tricky situations, he had been in fights, and he had had many a confused nightmare both sober and under the influence. This was the only time he had felt completely powerless, however, and he did not know how to deal with it. Not least when one of his best friends was standing idly by, watching his torment with a smile.

Yet, even as he fumed, glaring at Nick through slits, he felt a pang of concern. He refused to believe he had done this of his own free will.

“Nick,” he managed to mutter, “what’s happened to you? What did she do to you?”

Nick merely stared at him, looking rather blank. A taloned hand rested on Simon’s shoulder and he felt a soft blow of air against his ear.

“I did nothing to him, nothing he wasn’t already thinking of becoming,” Mrs Black whispered. “I gave him my serum and promised him the one thing all men desire above all else; unlimited power.”

Simon couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Uh-huh. Have you seen him in the band? He basically has that already, he’s like a puppet-master.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nick’s lips twitch.

“A typical response from a blockhead like you,” Mrs Black hissed, digging her claws tighter into Simon’s shoulder and making him wince. “You cannot see beyond the stars as we do. You cannot fathom the vast realms of this universe and the capabilities of man to unlock its secrets... “

“What secrets are you unlocking in some old shithole in Wales?” 

That earned Simon a hard slap to the cheek. Mrs Black strolled in front of him, staring into his face with a ferocious intensity. 

“You have no idea of what I am capable of,” she said, “I am on the precipice of unlocking the ultimate secrets to life itself... and the continuation of life beyond death. Time and time again I have failed; yet each time I have come closer to the final truth. Although it pains me, as you are the most inferior specimen I could possibly have found for such glory, this last experiment will be the one-- the FINAL one-- the one to bring enlightenment to us all.”

She threw back her head and give a high grating cackle, shoulders jerking violently as her entire body seemed to shake up and down, filled with evil mirth. Simon briefly wondered if he had walked onto a Boris Karloff film set by accident. If only he hadn’t been in so much fear and pain, he might have smiled at the idea that this was all fiction. Before he had time to think of any witty remark or plea, Mrs Black was on the move, pulling up from the floor a cable and carrying it directly over to where he sat with a menacing grin. It was time for the hero to rush in and save him but all the potential candidates around him were drugged, demented, or both.

Simon rattled his clamps again with a growl.

Andy peered blearily round, the sound of clanking metal scratching against his ears. His head was aching, as though he had the world’s worst hangover, but he had barely touched his wine…

It took his sleepy brain a moment to process what was happening in front of him. The first thing he noticed was John, lying in a heap on the floor, one bare arm dramatically thrown behind his head and making him look rather like a pinup. Andy shook his head quickly, trying to clear both the drugs and that idea from his mind.

His alighted on Simon as he did so, and his vision went dizzy as he leapt to his feet without thinking. He saw his friend, strapped and unable to move, with two electric wires clamped to his neck. Andy swore he had seen the exact same thing in a movie before. He couldn’t remember the specifics, but it hadn’t had a good outcome.

Legs mushy and slow, his body feeling like lead above them, he sprinted as fast as he could towards Simon. 

He saw Nick standing ominously beside the table, yet his eyes were strangely empty. Andy expected him to move, to shout at least, but he remained still. Mrs Black had turned away from them, moving towards the far corner, and Andy seized his chance.

He lunged forward just as his legs decided to give way. He crashed into the side of the chair, missing what he had thought was Simon’s leg by a good 4 inches, and in his haste to get to his feet he found himself entangled in some kind of wire, wrapping painfully round his waist. He tugged on it, over and over, until it ripped from Simon’s neck. 

“OW!” Simon yelled.

That alerted Mrs Black to the situation. Shrieking like a banshee, she threw out her hand towards Nick and clicked her fingers.

Andy looked round in terror as Nick suddenly came to vivid, rapid life, curling his lip into a snarl and raising his arms in a throttling position.

Andy didn’t hesitate.

“Sorry mate, I did my best.”

He barely had time to feel regret as whirling round he saw Nick advancing rapidly towards him with an expression that he could only describe as totally murderous.

Andy staggered across the room, running as fast as he could towards the passageway from which they had came, the shadowy outline of the entrance multiplying and blurring in his confused vision.

He heard a sharp clang of metal and a scrape like a butcher sharpening a knife. He dared glance around for a split second, halting in the doorway, and he immediately regretted it. Nick swayed beside a suit of armour, grinning maniacally, having just stolen the figure’s axe. 

Andy yelped half fell down the stairs, scrambling as fast as he could down every step. His frantic breath seemed to fill the entire hall, ghostly echoing round him, and his eyes darted round every corner of the dark path ahead almost half-believing there were spirits or demons there. It would be the smallest surprise after the night they had had so far.

His feet slapped painfully against the stone, lungs tightening with fear and exhaustion. Where could he go? For all he knew this was a dead end. Back to the lab? There was no other exits there as far as he could see. All he could hope for was to find the stairs back to John’s room-- but even making his way that far seemed impossible.

If he had had more energy left in him, he would have cried. The blackness ahead of him was becoming fuzzy, spots appearing in front of his eyes as he forced his body on, legs feeling smaller than they ever had done. He had never been great at sports-- perhaps partly because of his height, but mostly for the bullying about it in school. The memory almost made him slide to a halt, his courage dwindling faster than before.

His thoughts were cut off as his shoelace caught in a crack on the stone slabs beneath him and he was thrown straight into the wall opposite. 

Dust clouded Andy’s vision, choking down his throat, tears streaming from his eyes from fear and discomfort. He scrambled across the floor but his heart felt like it was about to burst, pounding so violently with the effort of trying to get up. Wiping his eyes as best he could, he looked up, only to see the dark shadow of Nick approaching him.

“Nick, please mate, don’t do this--”

He tried to plea feebly, until the urgent need to cough cut him off. He managed to scramble up the wall, holding out his hands in a pacifying gesture. In response, Nick raised the axe, white teeth bared and eyes wide.

With the last bit of energy Andy had, he darted to the right.

Roaring an almighty roar, Nick threw the axe forward, embedding it into the wall directly across the engraved cross.


End file.
